Of Lampposts
by Allegrezza
Summary: Stand-alone vignettes of the Warden's journey through Fereldan, detailing tales of battle, campfires, romance, smarmy assassins, darkspawn, and lampposts. (Not all are M-rated and each is marked with a rating at the top of the chapter) #2- Hopping Borders: In which Alistair is even more inexperienced than we thought and Surana stares at his mouth a lot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Soooo yep. This is my first foray into fanfic outside of LoZ and I'm coming to it a bit late since I only just got this game a couple weeks ago. But this game is really addicting and the characters won't leave me alone so I'll be posting shot vignettes as they come to me. They'll probably be out of order the rating might go up to M. Also, there will be spoilers, minor and major, but since this game came out a while ago, I'm not going to mark anything.

These will assume a female elf mage as the Warden. I try to stay in character for the followers, but it might be a bit difficult until I get some practice. Each chapter is able to stand on its own.

Happy reading!

**Rating: T for very mild suggestive themes and mention of ale.**

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**Curiosity**

Neria Surana, Grey Warden hailing from the Fereldan Circle of Magi and leader of the little army that was determined to stop the Blight was insufferably and unmistakably the most curious person Wynne had ever met. And she meant that literally. The young elf mage was constantly stopping to talk to nearly everyone they crossed paths with, be it a dwarven tradesman hawking his wares in Denerim or a messenger boy who'd stopped to tie his shoes or the revered mother in the local chantry or the guards standing on duty outside of the city walls.

Wynne saw a lot of the student in Neria at times like that. She'd heard of the girl back at the circle tower- Irving's star pupil- who excelled at her studies, at the top of her class, and finished the Harrowing in record time. Sometimes, seeing the elf in armor was off-putting; the mage seemed like she would be much more at home curled up in a library in her robes studying forgotten tomes than shouting spells at darkspawn in the splintmail she'd acquired from Alistair after some adjustments to make it less heavy.

Their fearless leader, as that Zevran the Crow liked to call her, had never lost the habits that had made her such a good student. She spoke to everyone, was curious about everything, and had a seemingly endless supply of questions. Even when it seemed like conversations were about to wrap up, she came up with something else to ask- Heard any rumors lately? What can you tell me about the Chant of Light? Don't bards have a certain ...reputation in Orlais? Do you find Fereldan very strange?- to prolong her interaction, even if she already knew the answers she sought.

It wasn't even that she liked to hear herself talk. Like any good apprentice- Wynne kept forgetting that Neria was no longer an apprentice- Neria was also a good listener. They'd stopped at a tavern in Denerim the night before when they'd arrived and while Zevran and Alistair went straight for the ale and Leliana for the corner where a minstrel was performing, Wynne found Neria still sitting at the bar several hours later when she came to get them to go back to camp, listening to the barkeep share every last tidbit of information he'd ever heard come through his tavern, attention unwavering even as the man's tales had obviously become more and more fabricated.

"Why were you even listening to him babble on?" Alistair had asked her on the walk back. "He was full of more hot air than Zevran, and that is a certainly a feat to behold," he'd said, smirking a bit at the assassin's sniff of protest from behind them. Neria had just shrugged, grinning a bit and glancing at her fellow Grey Warden.

"Why not?" Alistair had rolled his eyes at the predictable response- of course she'd answered with a question- and let it go (not without a fond look that Wynne certainly did not miss and that caused her to exchange glances with Leliana, who had a knowing smile on her face).

There was literally no one Neria would shy away from speaking to. She'd watched the young mage pause in front of Teyrn Loghain's tent back that first day in Ostagar and somehow cajole the guard into spilling information about his lord. Then, of all things, the teyrn himself had come out and spoken briefly with her despite the fact that she was a complete stranger, and an elf mage at that!

Her behavior was partly endearing, occasionally frustrating, and even a little bit worrisome, to Wynne. She understood the thirst for knowledge perhaps more than anyone else, but a little restraint and forethought was sometimes in order. The girl was clever, far cleverer than she let on, but Wynne still worried. For the Maker's sake, Neria had stopped to chat with a desire demon during that terrible ordeal in the tower! If that didn't show a lack of self-preservation, she didn't know what would. That girl was going to get herself into a lot of trouble one day if she wasn't careful.

Even now, Wynne saw her hesitate at the sight that came to them just outside of the castle walls as they headed back to camp where the others were waiting. A man was leaning against the wall, and though Wynne could tell right off that he was inebriated, apparently Neria had more trouble telling. "Are you alright sir?" she asked, taking a few steps toward him before Wynne could stop her. "Do you need help?" The big man straightened, leering at the smaller elf before him.

"Help? Well, if you're asking, I could probably find some use for a little morsel like you. You knife-ears are good screamers, 'n I like 'em loud," he laughed, reaching for her. But Wynne didn't even have to react; Alistair was already behind the mage, hand on her shoulder, Zevran was flanking her, baring his teeth and looking rather formidable, and Leliana was standing to the side in the shadows, a glint of a knife in her hand. Not to mention that Neria was, honestly, perfectly capable of defending herself; she was not Irving's star pupil without cause.

"Watch what you say about 'knife ears' in the presence of Wardens and their friends, good sir," Zevran drawled smoothly.

"Ooh, that's a really tempting offer, I'm sure. Do the ladies always fall for that line?" Alistair added, firmly turning Neria away. "Really, I think it would be a favor for everyone in Denerim if we cut out your tongue." The man glowered but was clearly still sober enough to know better than to pick a fight with a group of armed people.

Wynne relaxed as they walked away without trouble, falling behind and looking thoughtful as they put the city walls behind them. "Cut out his tongue? Really Alistair?" she heard Neria ahead of them, her voice teasing, and Wynne watched the tension leave not only the brawny Warden, but also bard and assassin alike. "I hardly think that would have been necessary."

And as they neared camp, Zevran chatting with Leliana as the ex-sister sheathed her blade and checked to make sure they weren't being followed, and Alistair could be heard lightly berating Neria (she should be paying more attention to who she talked to really, not everyone was sunshine and daisies you know, not even in front of a beautiful woman and did I say that out _loud_?), Wynne mused with a smile that even if curiosity killed the cat, Neria was going to be perfectly fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hopping Borders: **In which Alistair is even more inexperienced than we thought and Surana stares at his mouth a lot.

**Rating: M, **just to be safe (it's more like a high T but before I rate everything I imagine if I'd want my 13yearold sibling reading it first lol). No explicit details, just descriptions of Zevran's shenanigans and licking lampposts.

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**Hopping Borders**

"You look..." Neria paused tactfully, eyeing her fellow Grey Warden. She always chose her words carefully, especially with Alistair, who was far more sensitive than he let on. "Confused," she decided, watching him and he dropped onto the barstool beside her and ordered another drink. She passed hers to him in the meantime, as the barkeep was pretty busy with the influx of visitors that came as the sun set. She could barely manage more than half a pint anyway. She was small and didn't take to alcohol well in the first place.

He took a swig gratefully before setting the mug down, sighing. "Hello to you, too," he said wryly. She waited for him to elaborate, biting back the desire to question him; she had learned that sometimes waiting for Alistair to spit it out was more effective than trying to pry it out of him. She studied the top of the bar, fingertips tracing the worn and scratched wood and resisted the urge to watch Alistair instead; she'd found herself doing that a lot lately. He continued a moment or two later, like she'd expected.

"It's just... You, know-... Well, Zevran." His words were an exasperated sigh, and she grinned a bit now.

"Well, that was certainly enlightening, ser. And you're always accusing me of being the silvertongue," she hummed, voice gently teasing. He smirked, the expression drawing her gaze, and shook his head.

"Ooh, I'm not entirely sure I want to talk to you. Ale makes you mean," he said, shaking his-her- mug at him. She made sure to look appropriately contrite, but she knew she couldn't hide the humor in her eyes.

"I've hardly had any," she complained.

"I know. Good thing too, because I don't fancy carrying you back to camp. I saw you wolf down enough food to feed Sten for a day this morning, and I'm not sure I could lift you," he said playfully, watching her over the rim of his mug.

"Haha," she said dryly, hiding her grin. "This again? I thought we were done making fun of the new Warden."

"Well, considering you're still hardly taller than a dwarf I find it hard to believe that you could possibly be grow- hey, don't hit me!" He was laughing and finally looked relaxed for the first time since he'd sat down beside her. She shook her head and sat back, propping her chin up on her hand, elbow on the bar, and watching him expectantly. "I know that face," he sighed.

"What face?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"That face. The face that tricks people into spilling their secrets. I'm not fooled for a minute, woman. " She widened her eyes at him in innocence and he sighed. "Oh alright. It's just... Zevran. He's left." Neria's brow furrowed a bit and she nodded slowly.

"Yes...? I thought that was sort of a given, since he asked us to stop at a tavern for that reason," she said. Zevran had made it clear that he wanted some company that didn't involve 'chantry boys or old women who don't take kindly to his admiration of her bosom'. She smiled a bit. Zevran was nothing if not entertaining, and she had grown to trust him, even if the others were not so sure. "He's not doing anything nefarious, I'm certain," she moved to assure Alistair, who had seemed a bit off toward Zevran lately. "Well. Not anything that means harm to us." Alistair pulled a strange face and she watched the twist of his mouth with more interest than she probably should have.

"No, it's not that. It's just... He left with a man." Alistair looked so perplexed that she giggled behind her hand, and he looked a bit affronted.

"No, I'm sorry," she said, resting a hand on his arm, which seemed to soothe his ruffled feathers a bit. There was a fine line between when it was ok to laugh at him and when it wasn't, and she hadn't meant to make light of his honest confusion. When she'd collected herself, she dropped both her hands.

"You never...?" she waved a hand in the air, and he raised a brow. They'd had a similar discussion a couple weeks ago in camp when it was made clear with much blushing and a little teasing that Alistair was inexperienced. He was obviously thinking the same thing.

"If this is going to be another lamppost conversation then I'm going to need another drink," he said, and she grinned a bit. "You know already that I've never... uh..." She stopped him, enjoying his blush but not wanting his discomfort.

"I just meant... You grew up surrounded by boys in templar training. Hadn't you ever heard of..." She struggled to refrain from becoming embarrassed herself. "You know, people can be attracted to others of their gender." Alistair's expression was so comical she nearly laughed again, and it was a valiant effort to keep her face straight. "I'm assuming that's not a familiar concept to you then?" she asked lightly.

"I thought he was joking," the copper-haired Warden said, eyes a bit wide. "All of the flirting, and the bit about hopping borders..." he breathed in sudden realization. She patted his arm consolingly.

"And to think, you could have been the one to keep him company tonight if you'd just realized sooner," she said, tone teasingly condoling.

"Don't even joke about that," he sputtered. "Even if I- if- not with Zevran!" he said, sounding scandalized. She chuckled a bit then, knowing that Alistair's ideas of an encounter of that sort were far more romantic than Zev's on the subject; despite the elf's flowery words and beautiful flattery, Alistair in his adorable awkwardness felt that sex was a far more intimate and personal thing than Zevran seemed to, due to their varying backgrounds.

Did she just think Alistair was adorable? Maybe she'd had a little too much to drink after all.

"I thought you were already aware of that tendency," she mused, tucking her chin length hair behind a pointed ear. "You know. I thought the lampost was..." She gestured pointlessly.

"Yes?" he prompted, smirking a bit when she blushed.

"A euphemism?" she offered. "You said you'd never... licked one." Her face was hot and he blinked.

"Licked a- oh. Oh! No, I didn't even... Maker's breath." They both looked away in awkward silence for a long moment, blushing. Leliana would have laughed at them if she'd been around to see; the bard enjoyed teasing the two members of their little party who were the most inexperienced. "Well, I'm never going to be able to look at a lamppost ever again," Alistair announced finally, rubbing the back of his head with a wry grin. "I wasn't actually trying to make a reference to..." She raised a brow.

"Fairly poor choice of words then," she ribbed, and his embarrassed grin was rueful.

"Well we can't all be as eloquent as you, dear lady," he said sarcastically. "I will aspire to be more coherent in the future," he said, making a regal gesture and she chuckled, shaking her head.

"I like you the way you are," she said without thinking, and he held her gaze, suddenly becoming serious. She held her breath as she looked at him, refusing to deflect her comment with a teasing statement but feeling the same pounding in her ribcage that she'd felt when she'd blurted out in camp one night that he was handsome.

"Good," he murmured after a long pause, and then the moment was broken when the bartender finally arrived with Alistair's other drink and she slid off the barstool before liquid courage made her do something stupid like lean over and kiss him.

"I'll see you at camp," she hummed. "I have first watch, so I'm going to head back." The other Warden nodded.

"Right. I'll head out when I've finished," he said, lifting his flagon, and she nodded, giving him a smile. She didn't notice his thoughtful gaze following her all the way out.

(And he definitely wasn't watching her hind-quarters either, if anyone asked.)

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**Review?** :)


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